


Slugs, Snails, Puppy Dog Tales

by lachatblanche



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movies), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blind Date, Canon Compliant, Deadpool cameo, Ficlet Collection, Flirting, Fluff, M/M, Movie Night, Newspapers, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Uniforms, X-Men: Apocalypse - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2016-10-19
Packaged: 2018-03-16 06:26:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 14,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3477827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lachatblanche/pseuds/lachatblanche
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of one-shots and ficlets.</p><p>7. <strong>Introspection: Erik</strong> - XMA ficlet (canon compliant). Erik's thoughts upon being contacted by Charles.<br/>8. <strong>Introspection: Raven</strong> - XMA ficlet (canon compliant). Raven's reflections on returning to the Xavier mansion after the events of XMA.<br/>9. <strong>Lost and Found</strong> - In which Erik temporarily misplaces his location.<br/>10. <strong>Integration (Interrogation)</strong> - (Steve/Charles) In which Steve is interrogated by Raven, Hank and Alex (but mainly Raven).<br/>11. <strong>Us, Again</strong> - In which Charles meets Erik again after several years apart (and Erik is naked).<br/>12. <strong>Table for Two</strong> - (Xavierine) In which Charles goes on a date for the first time after a breakup. It doesn't go well.<br/>13. <strong>Breaking the News</strong> - In which Charles is the workaholic editor of a newspaper and Erik is his chief political correspondent.<br/>14. <strong>Public Displays</strong> - In which Erik realises that maybe he doesn't actually hate public displays of affection as much as he thought he did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Contents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A collection of one-shots and ficlets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All works are Charles/Erik unless specified otherwise.

1\. **Runaway Models** (Part One) - In which Emma is a fashion designer and a tyrant and the boys are her unwilling models.  
2\. **Runaway Models** (Part Two) - Erik, Charles and spandex.  
3\. **Let Them Have Cake** \- In which Logan regrets ever mentioning that he wanted cake for his birthday.  
4\. **Movie Night** \- In which Charles attends Film Club, Erik is a movie snob, and Moira runs things with an iron fist.  
5\. **Runaway Models** (Part Three) - Charles and Erik prepare for a photo shoot.  
6\. **In Uniform Fashion** \- (Xavierine) In which Charles is very appreciative of Logan's new uniform.  
7\. **Introspection: Erik** \- XMA ficlet (canon compliant). Erik's thoughts upon being contacted by Charles.  
8\. **Introspection: Raven** \- XMA ficlet (canon compliant). Raven's reflections on returning to the Xavier mansion after the events of XMA.  
9\. **Lost and Found** \- In which Erik temporarily misplaces his location.  
10\. **Integration (Interrogation)** \- (Steve/Charles) In which Steve is interrogated by Raven, Hank and Alex (but mainly Raven).  
11\. **Us, Again** \- In which Charles meets Erik again after several years apart (and Erik is naked).  
12\. **Table for Two** \- (Xavierine) In which Charles goes on a date for the first time after a breakup. It doesn't go well.  
13\. **Breaking the News** \- In which Charles is the workaholic editor of a newspaper and Erik is his chief political correspondent.  
14\. **Public Displays** \- In which Erik realises that maybe he doesn't actually hate public displays of affection as much as he thought he did.


	2. Runaway Models - Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Emma is a fashion designer and tyrant and the boys are her unwilling models

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr from a one-line prompt: "Run Charles! Run for your life!"

‘Run Charles! Run for your life!’

Charles looked up with a frown, blinking dumbly at the spot next to him where Erik had been sitting just a few scant seconds ago.

‘Erik?’ he called uncertainly, looking around, but Erik was nowhere to be seen. The space beside Charles was still warm, yes, but Erik himself appeared to be long gone, taking with him the explanation for why he had so frantically shouted for Charles to run for his life.

Bemused, Charles turned back to the book in his hands – only to pause when a shadow fell across the pages.

Lowering his book, Charles glanced up at the person in front of him, only to feel his blood suddenly freeze in his veins.

‘Well hello there, sugar,’ Emma purred, her hands on her hips as she eyed Charles through narrowed eyes. ‘Fancy seeing you here in the middle of nowhere when I could have sworn that you were supposed to be in my studio over an hour ago.’

‘I—’ Charles stammered, but Emma cut him off.

‘Because when a friend volunteers to be a last-minute replacement model for a friend’s fashion show, said friend _expects_ her last-minute replacement model to be there _on time_ for the fittings, don’t you see darling?’

‘Emma, I never actually _volunteer_ —’

‘Details,’ Emma waved him off. She then crossed her arms over her chest and glared down at him. ‘Now, do I have to drag you along by your pretty little ears, or will you come without making a scene?’

Charles sighed. He should have known that escape would be futile. ‘I’ll come,’ he said forlornly, getting to his feet. At least this way he could pretend to have _some_ dignity left before his inevitable humiliation. Emma may have been a talented designer, but the clothes she created often revealed much more flesh than they covered.

‘Good,’ Emma sniffed, only slightly pacified by Charles’s speedy surrender. ‘Oh, and just so you know?’ she added, raising an eyebrow. ‘This pathetic little escape attempt is going to cost you.’

Charles winced. He couldn’t say that he hadn’t been expecting it. ‘How bad?’ he asked, bracing himself.

Emma grinned sharply. ‘The bright yellow spandex kind of bad,’ she said, a smug smile curling at her lips.

Charles cringed. He had no doubt that this would be _spectacularly_ humiliating. ‘Damn you, Erik,’ he scowled, fiercely resenting Erik for abandoning him to his fate. This was all his fault anyway. He was the one that had convinced Charles to join him in making a run for it instead of instantly and unquestioningly capitulating to Emma’s demands in the normal, sensible way that they (and everyone else, quite frankly) usually did.

Emma smiled. ‘Don’t worry, sugar,’ she cooed, reaching over to pat Charles’s cheek. ‘Erik will get what’s coming to him.’ She cocked her head. ‘I’m thinking something big and floaty in purple and magenta. Possibly with a cloak. What do you think?’

Charles raised an eyebrow. ‘Knowing Erik?’ he sighed. ‘The bastard will probably _love_ it.’


	3. Runaway Models (Part Two)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik, Charles and spandex

Erik stared at Charles, his eyes wide.

‘Charles,’ he breathed. ‘You look …’ he trailed off.

‘Ridiculous?’ Charles bit out, looking grumpily down at himself and wincing. ‘Like a complete and utter idiot?’

‘No,’ Erik shook his head before returning his eyes to Charles. ‘You look _magnificent_.’

Charles paused. ‘Erik,’ he said slowly. ‘I am wearing yellow spandex. Tight yellow spandex. What exactly is it that you find so _magnificent_ about this monstrosity, pray tell?’

Erik shook his head. ‘You’re being narrow-minded,’ he said disapprovingly, raising his chin. ‘ _I_ happen to think that you look wonderful.’

‘ _You_ happen to be wearing a purple and magenta cape,’ Charles grumbled. ‘Forgive me if I don’t trust your fashion sense right now.’

Erik ignored the last comment and instead grinned proudly at his cape. ‘Isn’t it magnificent?’ he asked, raising the hem majestically and tucking the cloak over his arm. 

‘Yes,’ Charles said dryly. ‘That’s _one_ word for it.’

‘Watch it, sugar,’ Emma purred, smirking as she approached and ran her eyes over the two of them. ‘You don’t want me to feel insulted, do you? Because you should know that I have a hot pink little number that I’ve been _dying_ to have someone model for me.’

Charles shuddered. He then glanced over to see Erik eyeing him with a speculative expression on his face.

Charles glared at them. ‘I hate you all,’ he muttered, and then reached for the nearest wine bottle and proceeded to spend the rest of the night draining it.


	4. Let Them Have Cake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the one-line anonymous prompt: 'Logan wanted chocolate cake'.

Logan wanted chocolate cake.

Unfortunately, the monstrosity that Charles was concocting in his mixing bowl hardly resembled anything chocolaty, let alone something that could eventually become a cake.

‘Oh dear, I think I accidentally got a bit of eggshell in it,’ Charles said, looking down in dismay at the brown sludge in his bowl with a look of thorough disappointment on his face. 

His downhearted expression made something in Logan’s chest clench. ‘You don’t have to do this, Chuck,’ he began, shifting uncomfortably on the spot, but Charles immediately interrupted him.

‘Of _course_ I do, Logan, it’s your _birthday_ ,’ he said sternly, turning and waving a wooden spoon at Logan as if to chasten him. Logan watched as a lump of brown sludge left the spoon and flew up in an arc before landing on the floor with a definite - and rather off-putting - _squelch_. 

Logan winced.

‘I’ll clean that up later,’ Charles said carelessly, waving it off. ‘Now,’ he turned to Logan with a spoonful of batter, an expectant look on his face. ‘Come here and tell me how this tastes.’

Logan’s instincts screamed at him to run but, bravely steeling himself, he took a deep breath and stepped forward. Eyeing the brown sludge before him, he gritted his teeth determinedly and cursed himself for his own damn soft-heartedness, before opening his mouth and quickly swallowing down the batter as fast as was humanly possible.

Not fast enough, however, to prevent him from tasting the watery, too-sweet, overly-eggy mixture.

He barely refrained from gagging.

Charles was watching him closely, a hopeful look in his eyes. ‘So?’ he asked, sounding slightly anxious. ‘What do you think?’

Logan looked at him. Charles was biting his lip and his eyes were wide with hope and _godammit_ he couldn’t spoil this for him.

He sighed. ‘It’s great Chuck,’ he muttered, resigning himself - and all their guests - to a bout of food-poisoning on his birthday. ‘It’s - it’s perfect.’

Charles beamed at him, his eyes lighting up with relief. It almost made the whole thing worth it. Almost.

‘I’ll just pop it in the oven then,’ he said cheerfully, before carrying the mixture off to the other side of the kitchen. Logan watched him go forlornly, half-hoping that the cake would somehow explode in the oven so that he would never have to taste it - or get poisoned by it - ever again.

He sighed. At least _he_ had a healing mutation. The others wouldn’t be so lucky.

Especially Magneto. If Logan had anything to do with it then _he_ would be receiving an _especially_ large slice of cake that evening.

Logan smiled, the pained gurgle of his stomach slowly receding. Now _that_ was a birthday present that he could appreciate.


	5. Movie Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You’re the only other one who voted for my favorite movie on movie night so do you just want to watch it in my room au"

Charles bit his lip as the argument in front of him intensified and he surreptitiously eyed the doorway, wondering if it was too late to make a run for it. 

It was his first free Wednesday night in weeks and, not knowing what else to do with himself, he had decided to take Moira up on her invitation to join her at the university’s weekly Film Club. She’d seemed quite intent on roping him into joining up, but he supposed that it was only to be expected: along with being his best friend, Moira was also the club’s president, a role that she was very proud of. It was also, as Charles now saw, a role that she appeared to take _very_ seriously.

‘We’ve been over this, Lehnsherr,’ Moira was saying in tone that made it very clear that she was at the end of her tether. That tone always made Charles very nervous even when it wasn’t directed at him, and he once again found himself looking longingly at the door. ‘We’ve already decided on today’s movie. It was decided _weeks_ ago. You can’t simply change things at the last minute just because you’re suddenly unhappy about things.’

‘I am not _suddenly_ unhappy,’ snapped Lehnsherr, the current thorn in Moira’s side. The very _handsome_ thorn, if Charles were the sort to notice such a thing. Which he was. ‘I have been emailing you about this for weeks now!’

‘And I’ve been _replying_ to you for weeks now, telling you that you should have brought this up at the start of term when we were deciding on the schedule!’

‘I was working,’ Lehnsherr snapped, glowering at Moira in a way that Charles really shouldn’t have found at all appealing. ‘And don’t think that I don’t know that you did that on purpose, MacTaggert – I know very well that you made sure to schedule that meeting at a time when you knew I was busy.’

Charles’s eyebrows rose at that. It seemed that there was finally another person in the world who had cottoned on to the fact that beneath Moira’s placid and demure exterior lay a ruthless and manipulative Machiavellian mastermind. 

‘I have no idea what you are talking about,’ Moira sniffed, and Charles was mildly impressed to see that her lips didn’t so much as twitch. Her poker-face was definitely improving. ‘Besides,’ Moira then added. ‘That’s all irrelevant. The fact is, tonight’s theme is Monster Movies and I’m afraid that your choice simply does not fall into the category.’

‘It’s _Jaws_!’ Lehnsherr snarled, enraged. ‘It’s literally the _grandfather_ of all monster films!’

‘It’s about a shark,’ Moira said flatly, folding her arms across her chest. ‘Not a monster. Therefore it is automatically disqualified from the proceedings.’

Lehnsherr stared at her, aghast. ‘ _Disqualified?_ ’ he repeated disbelievingly. His hands clenched at his sides and he looked genuinely appalled. He opened his mouth, ready, no doubt, to argue his case, but then his eyes fell on Moira’s bland, unimpressed expression. Their gazes stayed locked for a long moment. Then Lehnsherr looked away with a scowl and his shoulders sagged. 

Here was a man, Charles thought to himself, who had clearly gone up against Moira numerous times before without once emerging victorious. Charles could sympathise.

Lehnsherr was not finished, however. Lifting his chin, he folded his arms against his chest and narrowed his eyes at Moira, determined to have the last word. ‘Clearly,’ he said scathingly, his lip curled in an expression of pure, unadulterated disdain. ‘You know absolutely _nothing_ about film.’ 

This dramatic condemnation was, no doubt, intended to shake her to her core but Moira simply shrugged, looking thoroughly unconcerned by the insult. ‘You’re entitled to your opinion,’ she said coolly. ‘Everyone’s entitled to their opinion of what constitutes good cinema.’

‘You’re watching _Godzilla_!’ Lehnsherr snarled, clearly incensed by her obvious indifference. ‘And not even the original 1954 version. You’re watching that worthless piece of shit with Matthew Broderick in it.’

‘Hey, lay off the Broderick, man,’ Sean protested, sitting up abruptly in his seat and frowning. ‘The dude was Ferris Bueller – the guy’s like a goddamn hero.’

Lehnsherr paused and then slowly turned around, narrowing his eyes at Sean. ‘This was you, wasn’t it?’ he growled, his tone dangerous. ‘MacTaggert might have suggested _Godzilla_ but it was _you_ who pushed for the Broderick version, didn’t you?’

Sean’s eyes widened in alarm and, sputtering out a weak protest, he quickly ducked his head out of sight, as if he thought that cowering away pathetically would keep him safe from Lehnsherr’s wrath.

‘That’s enough, Erik,’ Moira snapped, thankfully coming to Sean’s aid. ‘He had nothing to do with it. This was a joint decision that was made as a group and now we’re going to stick to it. There’s nothing you can do about that.’

Erik glared at her, his expression dark. Then he folded his arms over his chest. ‘I demand a vote,’ he said stubbornly.

Moira let out a hiss of exasperation. ‘Oh you have got to be joking,’ she groaned. When Erik didn’t back down, however, she let out a noise of irritation. ‘Fine,’ she snapped. ‘If you want to vote then let’s vote.’ She turned to the room. ‘Everyone in favour of watching _Godzilla_ – the _Matthew Broderick_ version,’ she turned and gave Erik a dirty look, ‘— raise their hands now.’

Charles jumped as every single hand apart from his shot up in the air.

Erik’s eyes narrowed at this but even so he did not look the least bit put out. Clearly he still thought that he had a chance of winning. Charles couldn’t help but be impressed by his deep – if seriously deluded – level of self-belief.

‘Everyone in favour of watching _Jaws_ , raise your hands,’ Erik then said, raising his own hand defiantly in the air.

No one moved.

Erik’s face took on a grim, marble-like quality as he stared out over the crowd, many of whom refused to meet his eyes.

Charles sighed. There was nothing for it. Slowly, he raised his hand.

Both Moira and Erik’s eyes immediately zeroed in on him.

‘Charles!’ Moira cried in dismay, looking betrayed. ‘What are you doing?’

Charles winced and shrugged sheepishly at her. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, sounding genuinely apologetic. ‘But you have to admit – _Jaws_ is a classic.’ He then turned to Sean. ‘And I’m sorry, Sean, but not even Matthew Broderick saved _Godzilla_. It was – well, it was pretty awful, if I’m being honest.’

At the front, Erik puffed out his chest, as if vindicated.

Moira just shook her head. ‘It’s still irrelevant,’ she said, sighing. ‘There’s only two of you in favour of _Jaws_. We’re still watching _Godzilla_.’ She then turned towards the DVD player with a sense of finality, but not before throwing a glare in Charles’s direction. They would be having words later, Charles knew. He shrank down in his seat with a sigh, once again regretting that he’d allowed himself to be bullied into coming here by Moira. He really should have just stayed home and watched re-runs of _Come Dine With Me_ instead.

At the front, Erik was glaring at Moira’s back, watching as she fiddled with the DVD player. After a moment, though, he let out a sigh and shoved his hands in his pockets, scowling in defeat as he turned away from Moira and the DVD player. Instead of returning to his seat at the front, however, he scooped up his backpack and slowly stalked down the line of chairs until he reached the back-row where Charles was sitting by himself. Charles watched in surprise as Erik then threw himself into the seat next to him, folding his arms over his chest and glaring at the screen in front of him.

They were both silent as the film started up, watching as Moira pulled away from the player and slipped back into her seat.

Two minutes in, Charles sneaked a quick glance over at Erik’s grim expression. It was just as thunderous as it had been when he’d first sat down. Charles hesitated for a moment, tussling with his indecision, before taking a deep breath and leaning in. ‘For what it’s worth,’ he said quietly. ‘I think that _Jaws_ is a legitimate monster movie.’

Erik’s grim expression immediately dissolved into one of delayed injury. ‘Right?’ he demanded, turning to face Charles. ‘I don’t know how MacTaggert doesn’t see that. It’s _ten times_ the monster movie that _Godzilla_ is.’

‘I have no argument with you there,’ Charles agreed. ‘In fact, I would have thought it obvious.’

‘It is obvious,’ Erik snorted. ‘It’s just that everyone _here_ is too idiotic to see it.’ 

Charles sighed. ‘It’s a pity really,’ he mused, watching as a reporter ran around on screen. ‘I would have actually enjoyed watching _Jaws_ again. _Godzilla_ isn’t really my cup of tea.’ He then shook his head ruefully. ‘I wouldn’t have let Moira convince me to come along if I had known that _this_ was what we were going to watch here tonight.’

Erik glanced over at him. ‘I knew I hadn’t seen you here before,’ he said, his tone thoughtful. He fell silent for a moment. ‘I’m Erik, by the way,’ he said, just before Charles could resign himself to watching the film. ‘Vice-president of the film club.’

‘Ah,’ Charles vaguely remembered Moira ranting to him about her asshole of a VP. He smiled. ‘I’m Charles. First-timer.’

‘Hmm,’ Erik was silent for a minute. ‘You and Moira—’ he said abruptly.

Charles quickly shook his head. ‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘I mean, there was a – a _dalliance_ a few years back, but we both decided that we worked best as friends.’

‘Ah,’ Erik relaxed slightly. ‘I’m glad. Not that Moira isn’t very—’ he paused. ‘ _Efficient_ ,’ he finished lamely, grimacing even as he said it.

‘Oh no, you can say it,’ Charles grinned. ‘She’s bloody terrifying.’ He gave Erik a sideways glance, his eyes twinkling. ‘And don’t ever tell her that I said this, but she’s really got _awful_ taste in films.’

The gleam of Erik’s many suddenly-revealed teeth was near blinding in the otherwise dimly-lit room. ‘I’m glad to see that there’s _someone_ here who’s figured that out,’ he murmured, leaning in close and causing Charles to shiver slightly when Erik’s breath tickled his neck. ‘People seem to think that just because she’s the one in charge it means that she has good taste.’

‘Why _is_ she the one in charge?’ Charles asked curiously.

Erik raised an eyebrow. ‘You’re her friend,’ he said dryly. ‘Have _you_ ever tried telling her to back off after she sets her mind on something?’

Charles grimaced. ‘Point taken,’ he said.

At that moment there was a fierce ‘ _shhhhh!_ ’ from the front (probably from Moira, Charles thought with a sigh) and the two of them shared a wry look before quietening down and turning towards the screen. 

Two minutes of silent viewing seemed to be all that Erik could take, however, for he soon let out a noise of irritation and leaned in towards Charles, even while keeping his eyes on the screen.

‘I’ve got the DVD in my bag,’ he said in a low voice, speaking through gritted teeth.

Charles blinked at that and frowned. ‘What?’ he asked, uncomprehending.

‘ _Jaws_.’ Erik was determinedly looking straight ahead. ‘I brought it along in case Moira changed her mind.’

‘Which she didn’t,’ Charles said.

‘Which she didn’t.’

There was a moment of silence, during which Erik looked strangely tense. When he next spoke, however, his voice was surprisingly tentative. ‘If you want,’ he began haltingly, still not looking Charles in the eye. ‘I mean – if you didn’t want to watch _this_ -’ he indicated the front of the room where Matthew Broderick was currently gesticulating wildly on screen. ‘Then maybe – if you want to – we could … I don’t know – go watch it some place else? Just the two of us?’ The last few words came out in a mumble.

Charles turned to look at him. Erik was sitting very still and very straight and was looking at the screen with an almost exaggerated expression of concentration. 

Charles was charmed.

‘You know,’ he murmured, leaning into Erik’s space so that their arms were brushing against each other. ‘My place is just a few minutes away. And I’ve been told on good authority that I make the _best_ popcorn.’

Erik drew his gaze away from the screen at that and, Charles saw with pleasure, there was a small smile on his lips.

‘Then lead the way,’ he murmured, and moving quietly, he silently followed Charles as they both slipped out of the door and away from Monster Movie Night.

*****

A minute later, Moira looked up and glanced idly behind her. Her eyes fell on the empty seats at the back of the room.

She smiled.

‘Okay guys,’ she called, standing up and pausing the film. ‘We’re all clear. They’re gone!’

‘Thank fuck for that,’ Alex rolled his eyes. ‘I thought we would actually have to sit here and watch this piece of shit all night.’

‘Hey, you watch your mouth!’ Sean protested, looking hurt. ‘It’s Matthew fucking Broderick, man.’

‘Whatever,’ Alex rolled her eyes. ‘You’re missing the point, doofus.’

‘What point?’

‘The _point_ ,’ Moira stepped in smoothly, her expression smug, ‘is that we’ve finally set those two idiots up with each other like we’ve been meaning to all year, _and_ we’ve now got rid of Lehnsherr and his sarcastic commentary for a whole night.’ She grinned as Angel let out a whoop and Sean and Alex high-fived each other. She then waited for them to quiet down before placing her hands on her hips and looking around at all of them. ‘Now then,’ she said, her eyes gleaming as she glanced towards the top-most shelf in the room where a line of DVDs explicitly prohibited by Erik Lehnsherr lay waiting. ‘What do you guys _really_ want to watch tonight?’


	6. Runaway Models - Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles and Erik prepare for a photo shoot.

‘Remind me why we’re doing this again?’ Charles asked miserably, tugging at the hem of his shirt in a listless manner.

Erik glared down at where Emma was kneeling by his side, carefully adjusting the line of his suit. ‘Because we were bullied into it,’ he answered grimly in a tone of dull resignation. ‘Coldly and mercilessly bullied.’

‘Nonsense,’ Emma straightened up from where she had been crouched and briskly moved to adjust Erik’s collar. ‘You’re being very melodramatic, darling. I was perfectly polite when I asked you, as you well know.’

‘That would imply that you actually _asked_ ,’ Charles muttered, giving Emma a baleful look when she turned to face him with a raised eyebrow. 

‘Sugar,’ she drawled, putting her hands on her hips. ‘The day I need to _ask_ for something is the day that I give it all up and become a nun.’

‘And I’m sure that we are _all_ looking forward to that day immensely,’ Erik grumbled, pulling irritably at his collar and then whipping his fingers away when Emma gave his hand a sharp smack. ‘Maybe then we wouldn’t be roped into this nonsense all the damn time.’

‘It’s not nonsense,’ Emma said patiently. ‘It’s a photo shoot. It’s an important preview of my upcoming line. You know that.’

‘And the reason you couldn’t get professional models for this photo shoot is …?’

Emma gave them a look that was easily translatable as ‘ _now why would I want to do that when I can get you two suckers to do it for me_ ’ before rolling her eyes. ‘You know, the two of you seem to whine an awful lot considering that you were the ones who volunteered to help me out in the first place.’

Charles cocked his head. ‘ _Volunteered_ is such an odd word to use …’ he mused.

‘Odd?’ Erik snorted. ‘Try _erroneous_.’

‘Oh look,’ Emma said dryly, arching an eyebrow, ‘You’re whining. Again.’ 

‘And you’re being a bitch,’ Erik drawled. ‘ _Again_.’

‘To be fair, it is a rather continuous process,’ Charles said mildly, before letting out a hiss when Emma calmly trod on one of his toes with a thoroughly unconvincing ‘oops’.

Erik sighed. ‘Can we just get this over with?’ he said impatiently, shifting about uncomfortably in his suit. ‘I do have other things to be doing, you know.’

‘And I don’t?’ Charles demanded, frowning as Emma tugged gently at his shirt, straightening the material with her fingers. 

‘Never mind that,’ Emma said waving off their grumbling with a dismissive hand. ‘The two of you can go back to being reclusive hermits after I’m done with you. Until then you’re mine.’ She then cast her eye over Charles and nodded to herself. ‘There,’ she said with satisfaction. ‘You’ll do.’

‘Finally,’ Erik muttered, even as he looked Charles over appreciatively. ‘Took you long enough.’

‘Oh hush,’ Emma scolded. ‘It hardly took any time at all. And the two of you look perfectly stunning, just as I knew you would.’

Charles and Erik gave each over a once-over, their lingering eyes confirming Emma’s words before they deliberately looked away.

‘You know,’ Emma sighed, looking at the two of them almost wistfully, ‘The two of you could make an absolute fortune if you wanted to. I really do wish that you would consider becoming professionals.’

Charles and Erik exchanged a glance. ‘Professional _whats_ , exactly?’ Charles asked with a touch of humour.

Emma’s wistful expression immediately disappeared and she rolled her eyes. ‘I was talking about _modelling_ , as you know very well,’ she sniffed. ‘And I was just saying that it would make things so much more convenient if you boys did this full-time. There is so much that I could do with the two of you on a professional level.’

‘You mean things like pimping us out?’ Charles asked, blinking innocently.

‘Why, are you offering?’ Emma shot back. ‘Because believe me, sugar, I know plenty of people who would be more than happy to pay for the privilege.’ She turned and shot a smirk at Erik as she spoke.

Erik glared at her.

A telephone rang in the next room just then and Emma smiled. ‘That'll be the Angel with news of the photographer’s arrival, no doubt,’ she said. She took one final look at the two men in front of her and then nodded in satisfaction. ‘Perfect. Now you two just wait here while I say hello and then I'll call you when we're ready.’ With one final nod at the two of them, she spun on her heel and made her way out.

Erik watched her leave the room in gloomy silence before turning on Charles. ‘This is all your fault, just so you know.’

‘My fault?' Charles stared at him incredulously. 'How is this _my_ fault?'

‘Emma,’ Erik said immediately. ‘I only met her because of you. If you hadn’t decided to become best friends with an evil fashion-designing harpy then none of this would be happening to me.’

‘I was five,' Charles said flatly, looking deeply unimpressed. ‘I would have made friends with a small boulder if we’d been thrown together long enough. I really don't think you can hold me accountable for all this.’

‘Well who else should I blame then?’ Erik grumbled.

Charles shrugged. ‘I don't know,’ he said, waving a hand vaguely before blinking and sheepishly adjusting his now-lopsided cuff, casting a guilty look at the door as if Emma would somehow be alerted to his misdemeanour. ‘Just – it's Emma, isn't it? She just – she's Emma.’

Erik considered that for a moment. Then he sighed. ‘You have a point,’ he conceded. He shook his head. ‘Fucking Emma,’ he muttered.

‘You rang, darling?’

They both looked up to see Emma standing in the doorway, a smirk curling at the edges of her lips. She eyed the two of them for a moment before jerking her head towards the door.

‘Photographer's here,’ she said lightly before turning around heading back out.

Erik and Charles shared a look of resignation.

‘You ready for this?’ Erik asked after a moment.

Charles shrugged. ‘Let's find out,’ he said, and headed towards the door.

Erik sighed. ‘Fucking Emma,’ he muttered again, and then followed Charles out of the room.


	7. In Uniform Fashion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Charles is very appreciative of Logan's new uniform

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by dwaroxxx's amazing fanart found [here](http://dwaroxxx.tumblr.com/image/140397755501).

It was five o’clock, classes had finished, and Charles and Logan were beginning their afternoon routine.

The two of them had relocated from the teachers’ lounge to Charles’s private study, and they were now both sitting on the comfy red sofa that Charles had moved here for exactly this reason. Charles was currently marking essays, red pen between his teeth and his toes tucked under Logan’s thigh, while Logan himself sat there chewing on an unlit cigar. He had spent enough time thinking that he was a five-year-old girl to know that Charles did _not_ appreciate cigar smoke wafting around the walls of his beloved study.

The atmosphere was calm, comfortable. Logan had never expected that such moments – quiet, lazy moments spent basking in another person’s company – would become some of his favourite points in the day, but somehow that’s what had happened. Logan had plenty of reasons to be grateful that Charles had convinced him to stay and teach at his School, but moments like these, much to his surprise, came somewhere near the top of that list.

Naturally, it was in the midst of thinking these quiet, pleasant thoughts, that the door banged open and Hank poked his head through. ‘Professor,’ he said quickly, looking straight at Charles, whose head had jerked up moments before Hank had entered the room. ‘We’ve got a situation.’

Charles frowned, drawing his feet out from under Logan’s thigh. ‘Is it serious?’ he asked, setting aside his marking and straightening up in his seat.

Hank shrugged. ‘I can’t say,’ he said apologetically. ‘Apparently there’s some sort of maniac in a red leather suit running around town and waving twin swords about. Not sure if it’s one of ours or not.’

Charles sighed. ‘Better safe than sorry, I suppose,’ he sighed, getting to his feet. ‘We’ll be down in a minute, Hank,’ he added, to which Hank nodded and disappeared.

Logan let out a grunt of irritation. ‘Can’t we just let the kids handle this one, Chuck?’ he muttered even as he reluctantly got to his feet.

‘To face a sword-wielding maniac?’ Charles raised an eyebrow, hiding a smirk as he led the way out of the study. ‘That would be _terribly_ irresponsible, Logan. Besides,’ he added as they approached the staircase down to the basement. ‘Do you _really_ think that I would miss this opportunity to see you in your new uniform?’

Logan rolled his eyes. His previous suit had taken a bit too much damage to the chest area during their last mission and he had been forced to retire it. Charles had surprisingly – or not as the case may be – taken to the idea of designing him a new uniform with _way_ more enthusiasm than was frankly decent.

‘You’re going to look _amazing_ ,’ Charles was saying with relish as he led Logan into the room where the others were already changing into their uniform blue and yellow suits. ‘It’s not all that different from before, but I remembered what you said about your movement being restricted, so I’ve made a very slight adjustment that I think will benefit us _both_.’

Logan raised an eyebrow, not knowing whether to be wary or amused. 

‘Your new suit is over there,’ Charles nodded over to a cubicle at the end of the room, moving aside as the other members of team stepped past him on their way to the hangar. ‘Go try it on. See what you think.’ He gave Logan a wink.

Logan held his gaze for a minute, then sighed and made his way over to the cubicle.

Five minutes later, he was back just as Charles was pulling on his gloves.

‘Logan!’ Charles exclaimed, beaming at the sight of him. ‘Does it fit alright? Do you like it?’

Logan snorted. ‘Oh it fits just fine,’ he drawled. ‘Only – did you forget something, Chuck?’

Charles gifted him with an angelic look. ‘Forget something? Like what?’ he asked innocently.

‘Like the _sleeves_ on my uniform?’ Logan asked dryly, gesturing at both hands and directing Charles’s attention to his suit, which cut off right at the shoulder.

Charles didn’t answer. He appeared to be mesmerised, staring unabashedly at Logan’s nicely-framed biceps, only coming back to himself when Logan pointedly cleared his throat and folded his arms over his chest.

‘Right. That.’ Charles shook his head, forcing his eyes away from Logan’s bare arms. ‘Don’t you like it? You always complained about how unwieldy the leather was, so I thought this would help with the restrictive movement.’

‘Sure, you were being completely selfless,’ Logan snorted, rolling his eyes. ‘ _Everyone_ here complains about the restrictive movement, Chuck. For some reason I don’t see _them_ modelling the sleeveless look.’

‘That’s because _they_ can’t pull it off the way you do,’ Charles murmured, leaning forward and pressing his hand against the front of Logan’s chest, tugging gently at the zip on the front. ‘Besides,’ he added lightly as he toyed with it. ‘Your mutation means that you don’t really _need_ the protection afforded by the suit like the others do.’

‘So what, I may as well go in bare-chested?’ Logan deadpanned, even as he held himself deliberately still under Charles’s clever fingers.

Charles smirked. ‘Don’t tempt me,’ he murmured, his eyes glinting.

‘I won’t,’ Logan said firmly. ‘I don’t exactly want you getting distracted by my chest while in the middle of a fight.’ The words were said with a touch of humour, but the look in Logan’s eyes showed that he was completely serious.

Charles’s expression softened. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, smiling up at him. ‘I like you in the uniform. It marks you as one of the X-Men.’ Charles then smirked and leaned forward so that his face was millimetres away from Logan’s. ‘It marks you as _mine_.’

‘That so?’ Logan said, amused, his chest rumbling under the weight of Charles’s hand which was still pressed up against him. ‘Yours, is it?’

‘Hmm,’ Charles ran an appreciative hand down the front of Logan’s suit. ‘Absolutely.’

Logan chuckled as Charles traced his fingers up and down his uniform. ‘Careful there, Chuck,’ he murmured. ‘Someone might accuse you of having a fetish.’

‘Oh, I do,’ Charles admitted easily, slowly teasing down the metal zip with his fingers, his eyes focused entirely on his work. ‘I have a fetish for _you_.’

Logan’s eyes glinted and his mouth twitched up into a feral smile. Before he could respond, however, the speakers on the wall crackled, causing them both to jump apart and – belatedly – remember what it was that they were supposed to be doing.

‘Can you guys hurry the fuck up already?’ Alex’s impatient voice blared through the intercom. ‘Do you _want_ this asshole with the swords to kill somebody before we get there?’

Charles sighed and reluctantly pulled his arm away from Logan’s chest. He gave Logan a rueful smile. ‘Maybe next time,’ he said reluctantly, casting one more mournful look at Logan’s new uniform. He then straightened up, clapped Logan on the arm, and they both started striding towards the hangar where the Blackbird was waiting.

‘Don’t worry Chuck,’ Logan reassured him as they hurried through the door into the hangar. ‘This ain’t over yet. We’ll have plenty of time to play when we get back.’

‘You think so?’ Charles asked hopefully, looking up at him with smile.

‘Sure,’ Logan said as they started climbing the steps to the jet. ‘I mean come on – dealing with one guy with a couple o’ swords? Getting rid of _him_ ’s gonna be a piece of _cake_.’


	8. Introspection: Erik

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A canon XMA fic. Takes place during the first time that Charles makes mental contact with Erik, in the split second between Erik recognising Charles's presence in his head and answering him.

Hearing Charles’s voice in his head is at first disorientating.

It has been ten years since the last time he felt the touch of Charles’s mind against his; ten long years in which he has done his best to forget, where he has tried with all his might to suppress the feelings – to suppress the very _name_ of Charles Xavier – so that he might move on with his life. Charles had done the same, he was sure: there had been an acknowledgement of it, that day on the White House lawn, and his _goodbye_ had been as much a farewell as it had been a blessing. _Move on, Erik_ , Charles’s face had said. _It is time to move on._

A clean slate, a new leaf, a new _life_ – that was what Erik had promised himself then. He’d owed it to himself to try; he’d owed it to _Charles_ to try. And so he had. Looking back now, Erik can see that the Erik of a decade ago, while undoubtedly bruised and damaged and jaded, had nevertheless not been entirely free of hope. He might have felt that way at the time – he _knows_ that he felt that way at the time – but Erik knows now that he had never known true hopelessness till the day his daughter died in his arms.

It is amazing, in retrospect, that his brief period of happiness had lasted even for as long as it had. He should have realised from the very start that it was not to be. Erik has always known that his life was not fated to be a peaceful one; from the very beginning it has been a fight, a struggle, interpolated with rare, brief moments of happiness that are inevitably forever destroyed in acts of violence. Any measure of peace that he ever gained had always revealed itself to be temporary; a momentary halt to the onslaught of pain that life has made it its duty to punish him with. 

Erik had thought that its latest punishment – the snatching away of his beloved wife and child – was the last burden. Surely after this, a dull, beaten-down part of his brain reasons, there is nothing left for him. Surely all chance of happiness – of _peace_ – has been extinguished, forever ripped from his grasp in this one final, terrible blow.

But then – _Charles_ is suddenly in his head, after all this time, after ten long years, and Erik … something _jumps_ inside his chest, and oh! Perhaps his heart – that cold, shrivelled thing inside his breast – is not so dead after all.

And Erik – Erik nearly crumbles.

It is too much. Too much too soon. The feeling is torturous, too vast and too painful to endure. There is such _care_ in Charles’s voice, so much _feeling_ – too much, it is too much, how can Charles bear it? The _love_ , the grief, the unconditional forgiveness … And for a moment all Erik wants to do is give in, to succumb to the comfort that Charles’s voice offers, to extend that brief, magical moment of peace that the brush of Charles’s mind brings for as long as possible …

But then the moment passes and Erik remembers. He remembers who he is and what he has done. He remembers what he has lost and the raw tidal wave of grief that threatens to overwhelm him even now. 

He cannot afford peace, he realises – it is too dangerous. Too dangerous for him, and certainly too dangerous for Charles, who has already been punished for daring to love Erik, just as his family – both past and present – have. 

No, he cannot do that to Charles, he decides heavily, and he cannot do that to himself. Better to smother that little ember of hope, of _feeling_ , that stirs within his chest, stifle it so that it remains buried, unable to ignite. Better to remain cold, unfeeling, and hollow; a vessel for others, a soldier capable only of taking orders.

He closes his eyes. ‘Charles,’ he says.

Behind him, Apocalypse looms.


	9. Introspection: Raven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raven reflects on her return to the mansion. Post-movie, XMA compliant.

It felt strange to be back at the mansion. 

_Properly_ back, now. This was not a brief stop or a temporary truce as it had been when she had returned to inform Charles of Erik’s reappearance. This was … this felt _permanent_.

Had someone asked Raven if this was possible even a few short weeks ago, then she would have laughed – because back then it _wouldn’t_ have been possible. The decision to return after Erik had re-emerged had been logical – had been _necessary_ – but even so it had been difficult for her to do, and the struggle she had felt – torn between the desire to return and to help Erik, and the need to _flee_ far away from Charles and her childhood home – had been monumental.

In the end, she had resorted to detaching herself from her surroundings. This was a mission, she told herself, just like any others, and her end goal was retrieving Erik. He was the reason why she was back, and that – as well as the firm conviction that she was only going to stay for as long as it took to ensure Erik’s safety – had helped to counteract her discomfort and anxiety at being back.

Seeing Charles – and his happiness at seeing _her_ in return – had almost derailed her completely, but she had firmly stamped down on the joy and affection that had surged inside her at seeing her brother after so long a time. This was only temporary, she had told herself firmly, she was just here to see to Erik’s safety, and then she would be gone. There was no point in reminiscing and making herself comfortable; she had a mission to complete and nothing – _no one_ – could be allowed to sway her from that. 

And so she had hardened her heart, closing herself off from the distracting ( _treasured_ ) memories of being Charles’s plaything (his _sister_ ) and had continued ( _pretended_ ) like she felt nothing at being back in the house that she and Charles had both grown up in.

_It was your home. I just lived here._

It had been a cruel thing to say, looking back on it now. She had been desperate not to succumb to the allure of her childhood home, of her _brother_ , and so she had instinctively lashed out, striking where she knew it would hurt the most. Worse still, she knows – _Charles_ knows – that her words were not quite true, even beyond the fact that this had been the only home that she had ever known. After all, she knew better than anyone else that the mansion was never much of a _home_ to Charles either. On reflection, it had probably been worse for him. She had been an outsider, a cuckoo in the nest, a stranger, and so any lack of familial care and affection that she received was to be understood. Charles, though … Charles had deserved so much better. If he had ever considered the mansion to be a home back then, it was only because he hadn’t known any better. They both know it now, though: the only time that the house was ever a home to either of them was when the two of them were together. And that just made her words to Charles so much worse.

Not that Charles would ever admit that. He had always been far too forgiving for his own good. He had forgiven her for Cuba, after all.

She can’t say that she is without remorse (particularly about the manner of her departure, which even today she cannot fully excuse her younger self for), but even so she’s found that she can’t fully regret leaving the mansion – not just for her own sake, but for Charles’s as well. For if the mansion had never been the home that Charles had wanted back during his childhood, then it was that home now. Hallways full of laughing children, pictures made from glitter and finger-paint where austere portraits had once stood, _happiness_ flooding through the corridors … This was the home that Charles had always wanted, and this was what he had built for himself, at long last.

_I barely recognise it now._

If that had been true before the destruction of the mansion, then it was twice as true now that it had been rebuilt. It was the same house, yes – but then again it wasn’t. Each stone and brick and inch of steel had been shaped by mutant hands, and the mansion had now been formed not to house the rich and the privileged and the entitled, as it had previously been, but to house _mutants_ , to guide them and care for them and teach them.

It made a difference, somehow.

It no longer felt like capitulation to return to Charles. It no longer felt like failure. She had helped to rebuild the school, and she was now here to shape it, to help take it in the direction that _she_ wanted it to go. That did not feel like an admission of defeat.

It felt like a victory.


	10. Lost and Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik was not lost. Erik wasn’t lost, because he simply didn’t _get_ lost.

Erik was not lost. Erik wasn’t lost, because he simply didn’t _get_ lost. He could feel the earth’s magnetic field for fuck’s sake, so clearly it was the map’s fault that he had “temporarily misplaced his location”.

Not that Charles seemed to appreciate this. ‘We’re lost aren’t we?’ he said resignedly, looking at Erik with an eyebrow raised very high on his forehead.

Erik felt a headache coming on. ‘We are not _lost_ , Charles,’ he forced himself to explain for what had to be the tenth time in the last hour. ‘I’ve simply—’

‘“Temporarily misplaced our location”, yes, yes, I know,’ Charles rolled his eyes. ‘Whatever _that_ means. You _do_ realise that I could hear you trying to come up with a better way to say “lost” for the past hour, don’t you?’

Erik felt his cheeks redden. ‘Stay out of my head, Charles,’ he growled. 

Charles just rolled his eyes again, looking completely unconcerned. ‘It’s funny how you only ever say that when you’re feeling embarrassed about something,’ he drawled. ‘The rest of the time it’s “come into my mind, Charles”, “a tiger does not hide its stripes, Charles”, “look at this dirty fantasy I’ve cooked up in my head, Charles”—’

‘My head, my rules,’ Erik grumbled, sending Charles a glare. Then, because he felt obliged to stand up for himself, he added, ‘And I will have you know that everyone _else_ thinks that my tiger analogy is nothing short of _brilliant_.’

Charles snorted. ‘You keep telling yourself that,’ he said, patting Erik condescendingly on the back. ‘Now stop wasting time and find us a way out of here.’

‘That’s what I’m _doing_.’ Erik scowled. He narrowed his eyes at the grassy landscape all around them. ‘There’s just too much damn _grass_ about.’

‘Grass,’ Charles deadpanned. He raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that _you’re_ the one who wanted to go hiking in the first place.’ He gave Erik a pointed look. ‘What was it again? Something about getting me to leave my “pampered life of luxury and tough it out in the wild”, wasn’t it?’

Erik glared at him, feeling slightly resentful. Apart from looking a little red around the cheeks, Charles seemed to be as fresh as a daisy. Erik on the other hand … well, he had always been more of a fan of the urban jungle rather than the actual thing, and it showed. 

‘I just wanted to do something different,’ he muttered, looking down at his feet and glaring at the ground as if it were to blame for his loss of direction. ‘Something … special.’

Charles’s expression immediately softened. ‘I think it was a wonderful idea,’ he said kindly, patting Erik on the back. ‘And I’m sure you’ll find our way soon enough.’ His face abruptly brightened. ‘Look,’ he said, reaching for the backpack that Erik had tossed to the ground in irritation after realising that he didn’t know where he was. ‘I packed a compass into your rucksack before you left, so all we need to do is—’

‘Charles, no!’ Erik said in alarm, but it was too late. Charles had already opened the side pocket of Erik’s backpack and was staring at the small black velvet box that was now in his hand with something like bemusement.

‘Erik …’ Charles began, staring blankly down at the box in his hand. Erik winced. ‘Erik … this isn’t a compass.’

Erik blinked, momentarily wrong-footed, before shaking his head. ‘No,’ he said slowly, eyeing Charles warily. ‘No, it isn’t.’ Then, feeling a bit more daring, he added, ‘Do you want to open it?’

Charles looked at him with wide eyes. ‘Um,’ he said, all of a sudden resembling nothing more than a deer in headlights.

Erik sighed. Slowly, he reached forward and gently pried the box away from Charles’s fingers.

‘This wasn’t supposed to happen until later tonight,’ he mumbled, focusing on the box and avoiding Charles’s eyes. ‘There was supposed to be a waterfall, and stars and a picnic blanket …’

‘Very romantic, I’m sure,’ Charles murmured, and it was only because Erik knew him so well that he could pick out the breathless tone in his voice.

Erik opened the box. ‘Oh well,’ he said, sinking to his knees determinedly and ignoring the sudden inhale of breath from Charles. ‘It would all probably have been ruined by the bugs and mosquitoes anyway.’

‘Yes,’ Charles agreed.

‘And it was a terrible idea anyway, I know you would much rather—’

‘No, Erik—’ Charles interrupted him, reaching out to seize him by the wrist. ‘I mean _yes_.’

Erik blinked. ‘But … I haven’t asked you the question yet,’ he said dumbly, not entirely sure that he had heard right.

Charles let out a bright, breathless little laugh that even to Erik’s ears sounded ridiculously fond. ‘I’m saying yes anyway,’ he said, gazing at Erik like he was the most wonderful thing in the world.

Erik thought about this for a minute. ‘I suppose that’s alright too,’ he said after a moment. 

‘Good,’ Charles said, and then pulled his up by the arm and kissed him.

Erik at once leaned in, returning the kiss and drawing Charles towards him. Eventually, however, he pulled away. Unable to meet Charles’s eyes, he buried his head in his neck. ‘Charles,’ he said in a small, barely audible voice. ‘I think we’re lost.’ The admission pained him, but he owed it to Charles – to his _fiancé_ – to tell him that.

There was a rumble of silent laughter against Erik’s chest before Charles pulled away to look at him. ‘Don’t worry, darling,’ Charles murmured, before burrowing his way deeper into Erik’s arms and allowing his nose to brush against Erik’s. ‘I’ve been tapped into the minds of the people from the nearest town ever since we arrived. It’s a lovely little place with plenty of hotels filled with _very_ comfortable beds and it’s about twenty minutes out _that_ way.’ He pointed in the direction behind Erik. ‘Now,’ he grinned, ‘stop worrying, skip the sulking, and go back to kissing me.’

Erik considered for a moment. ‘That works,’ he agreed, and then did exactly what he was told.


	11. Integration (Interrogation)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Steve is interrogated by Raven, Hank and Alex (but mainly Raven).

‘Steve, love, if you need to signal me during the interrogation, just think of what you want; I’ll be listening the whole time.’

Steve’s eyebrows had risen high up on his forehead. He waited for Charles to stop speaking before replied. ‘Interrogation?’ he asked mildly.

Charles trained his eyes on the far side of the wall, his expression wide-eyed and innocent. ‘Well,’ he murmured. ‘That’s what _they’re_ calling it.’

Steve just had enough time to frown and mouth _they_ , before the door opened to reveal a narrow-eyed Raven, a bored Alex, and Hank, who looked far too keen for his own good.

‘You,’ Raven said, eyeing Steve darkly before jerking her head towards the inside of the room. ‘Follow me.’

_Good luck_ , Charles murmured in Steve’s head as he followed Raven and the others inside. _Remember, I’ll be here the whole time._

_I bet you will_ , Steve thought wryly as the door swung shut behind him. He then turned to see Raven, Hank and Alex seating themselves in a semi-circle around a lone chair in the centre of the room.

‘Sit,’ Raven said brusquely, indicating the chair in front of her.

‘Only if you want,’ Hank said immediately. ‘No one’s going to force you to do anything you don’t want to, sir. Captain. Mr. Rogers. Sir. And can I just say that I have always been incredibly inspired by—’

‘Jeez, bozo, take it down a notch,’ Alex muttered, rolling his eyes. ‘He doesn’t want to hear about you getting off on his being used as a human guinea pig in Howard Stark’s freaky science experiment, and neither do the rest of us.’

Hank glared at him, looking offended. ‘The only reason I’m even _here_ is because Raven promised that I would be able to ask Captain Rogers about—’

‘ _Boys_ ,’ Raven’s voice was low but it contained a note of steel.

Both Alex and Hank immediately shut their mouths.

Raven turned to Steve. ‘You know why you’re here?’ she demanded.

_Because **somebody** didn’t warn me in advance_ , Steve thought pointedly in Charles’s direction. ‘Because I need to earn your approval,’ he said instead, meeting Raven’s eyes unflinchingly.

‘Hmm,’ Raven surveyed him. ‘Do you have any questions before we start?’

Steve thought for a minute. ‘Do you do this for all of Charles’s partners?’ he asked at last.

‘Yes,’ Raven said immediately.

‘Ever since Erik,’ Hank added.

‘Believe me, it’s for the best,’ Alex said grimly, shaking his head and folding his arms across his chest. ‘The prof is great and all, but he has _really_ shitty taste when it comes to the people he falls in love with.’

‘Yourself excluded, of course,’ Hank said hurriedly.

‘I mean first there was Erik – and he pretty much took the crown for the king of assholes, you know? – but then there was Emma …’

‘And then Wade,’ Hank supplied.

‘Oh yeah, _Wade_ ,’ Alex shuddered. ‘And then after that was that weird alien space-empress chick, don’t forget her.’

‘Oh yes,’ Hank nodded thoughtfully. ‘That was … interesting.’

‘And then—’

‘I think that’s enough for now,’ Raven said tightly, smiling coldly at them. ‘Can we begin?’

Steve glanced between the three of them. 

_Better get it over with, darling_ , came Charles’s resigned voice inside his head. _There’s no point in dragging this out._

Steve sighed. ‘Very well,’ he said, bracing himself. ‘Let’s start.’

Raven’s eyes glinted. ‘So,’ she said pleasantly, crossing her legs and leaning back in her chair. ‘Tell me. On a scale of one to ten, how likely are you to shoot my brother in the back and abandon him on a beach?’

*****

‘Wow,’ Steve said an hour later, walking out of the room with a dazed look on his face. ‘That was … intense.’

‘Yes,’ Charles said, looking apologetic. ‘They’re really quite thorough, aren’t they?’

‘That’s one word for it,’ Steve said dubiously. He then turned to Charles with a wry smile. ‘I passed, though.’

‘I had no doubts whatsoever,’ Charles said, beaming at him, though there was slight air of relief in the mental wave of affection that he sent Steve’s way.

‘Good to know,’ Steve said with a laugh, before threading his fingers between Charles’s. ‘At least one of us was certain, then.’

Charles was about to respond when Raven exited from the room. She paused at the threshold, eyeing both Charles and Steve for a moment, her eyes narrowed. Then she relaxed and gave Steve a nod.

‘You did well,’ she said, and Steve had a feeling that this was very high praise indeed. But then she continued. ‘I’ll see you again tomorrow at 9am sharp.’

Steve frowned. ‘What?’ he said, but Raven was already walking away. Confused, he turned to look down at Charles.

‘You’re on to the next stage now,’ Charles explained, as if this was self-evident.

‘The _next_ stage?’ Steve tried not to sound too dismayed by the prospect. ‘But I thought that your sister and your friends approved. I mean – wasn’t that what the past hour was all about?’

‘Oh, that was just round one,’ Charles said breezily, looking suspiciously nonchalant and deliberately avoiding Steve’s eyes.

Steve felt his heart sink. ‘It was?’

‘Oh yes,’ Charles said brightly, patting Steve gently on the back. ‘Now you get to move on to round two.’

‘What’s round two?’ Steve asked warily.

‘Right,’ Charles said, deflating slightly and biting his lip. ‘So … you know how Alex and Hank mentioned some of my exes …’

Steve had a sudden sensation of foreboding. ‘… Yes,’ he said carefully.

‘Well,’ Charles turned an overly-bright smile on him. ‘Tomorrow you get to _meet_ them. Oh don’t worry,’ he added quickly as Steve suddenly found himself wishing that he could spend another seventy years encased safely away in ice. ‘You’re going to be fine. I’ve been telling Erik _all_ about you, and – trust me on this – I’m one-hundred percent certain that he, for one, is going to absolutely _love_ you.’


	12. Us, Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Charles and Erik meet again for the first time in years (and Erik is naked).

It wasn’t like Charles had never seen Erik naked before.

They had grown up together, after all, and there had been a convenient pond at the edge of the Xavier estate that was ideally situated for them to take dips in on long hot sunny days.

That had been _then_.

Now … now it was almost a decade later, Charles and Erik had both grown up, and Charles had spent the last few terms at Oxford discovering that he was actually really quite interested in men as well as women.

And that – that made _all_ the difference.

‘Problem?’ Erik was looking at him, his eyebrow raised as if in challenge as he stood at the edge of their childhood pond, looking entirely unconcerned by the fact that he was completely nude.

And why wouldn’t he? Charles swallowed as he allowed his eyes to linger on his childhood friend, unable to look away and yet unwilling to let Erik catch him staring at him.

Erik was beautiful. He had always been tall and skinny, even as a child, but now he had grown into his body, into the sharp angles and tapered waist, and the sight of him was enough to make Charles’s mouth go dry.

‘No,’ he said, swallowing and quickly looking away from Erik’s searching gaze. ‘No problem. I was just … remembering the last time that I was here.’

Erik snorted. ‘The last time you were here you spent the entire time mooning after Moira MacTaggert from our English class,’ he said wryly, angling his body towards Charles and placing his hands on his hips.

Charles coloured, both from the sight and from the recollection. He had always been a popular boy, but Moira had been his first proper crush, and he had made rather a fool of himself chasing after her, much to Erik’s amusement. The memory was slightly embarrassing now but at the same time it was pleasantly hazy, tinged golden by the touch of nostalgia. Life had still been exceedingly good at that point; the entire summer had been idyllic and perfect, and Charles could not recall a time when he had ever been happier.

Then, mere weeks later, his father had died, his mother had remarried, and Charles had been summarily packed off to school in England. He hadn’t seen Erik since.

Until now. Charles found his gaze return to Erik’s lean body, and again he felt his heart rate speed up, his gut suddenly clenching as it never had before in Erik’s presence.

He cleared his throat. ‘The last time I was here was also the last time _you_ were here,’ he reminded Erik pointedly, reaching down to untie his shoelaces and pull his shoes off his feet. His mother had been reluctant to admit Erik access to the estate even whilst in Charles’s company; he couldn’t imagine that she would have allowed him anywhere near the estate without it.

Erik snorted, eyeing him as Charles started to pull off his socks. ‘Your mother certainly thinks so,’ he said, raising an eye at Charles’s fumbling attempts to remove his left sock. Despite being completely naked he looked entirely at ease with himself. ‘But then I never was very good at taking orders.’

Charles glanced up at him. ‘You snuck in?’

‘Of course I did,’ Erik said dryly. ‘You forget how hot the summers here get, Charles.’ He studied Charles’s pink cheeks. ‘Though I think you’re starting to remember. Need any help?’ he asked, his eyebrow arched, watching as Charles finally started to work on unbuckling his belt.

‘Just get in already,’ Charles grumbled, ducking his head so that his hair covered his face.

Erik grinned. ‘As you wish,’ he said, and then without warning he threw himself into the pool with a splash. 

Charles found himself smiling in spite of himself, any irritation at the splashed water soaking into his clothes quickly dissipating in the face of his eagerness to join Erik in the cool water. He shook his head and made to remove his shirt and then stopped, distracted by the sight of Erik’s long lean form cutting through the water, the droplets clinging to his shoulders and dripping from his hair.

Erik caught his glance and something knowing crossed his expression. He pushed forward until he was at the edge of the pool, right in front of Charles. ‘You are stalling,’ he said plainly, his words more of a statement than an accusation. He then cocked his head and looked up at Charles, his eyes dark and challenging. ‘.Are you afraid, Charles?’

Charles found his heart beating faster. Somehow he didn’t think that Erik was referring to the water. He swallowed. Then, determined not to be caught out, he tossed his head. ‘Afraid?’ he said carelessly, reaching down and pulling his shirt off in one swift, defiant move, ignoring the way that Erik followed the action. ‘Why would I be afraid?’

Erik looked amused. ‘You tell me,’ he said, and then pushed away from the edge of the pond, turning on his front and cutting elegantly through the water.

Charles sighed and then quickly stripped away the rest of his clothes, placing them in a neat pile underneath a nearby tree. From out of the corner of his eye he could see Erik watching him, and it took all of his willpower to stop himself from reacting. 

He turned around, all the while aware of Erik’s gaze, and, taking a deep breath, plunged into the cool waters of the pond.

He held himself underneath the water for half a minute before pushing to the surface. When he broke through he found that Erik was suddenly just an arm’s length away, staring at Charles with a serious, intense look on his face.

‘You never said goodbye,’ he said quietly, his eyes boring deeply into Charles’s.

Charles swallowed. ‘I know,’ he said. Part of the reason for that was that he had all but been thrown out of the door the moment that his mother had married her new brute of a husband and so hadn’t had time for goodbyes; the other part was that Charles had been afraid to see Erik again because he wouldn’t have been able to bear saying goodbye to him. ‘I’m sorry.’

Erik nodded slowly. ‘And now,’ he said, still holding Charles’s gaze. ‘You’re back … for how long?’

‘Forever,’ Charles said, and then flushed. ‘Well – for the foreseeable future, at any rate.’

Something in Erik relaxed. ‘Good,’ he said, and then he reached forward, grasped Charles carefully by the head, and pulled him forwards into a gentle kiss.

Charles’s heart almost stopped. He held himself still, hardly daring to breathe, hardly daring to _move_. He felt clumsy all of a sudden, like the teenager he had been before he had left all those years ago.

‘Charles?’ Erik pulled back slightly, taking in Charles’s expression with a serious look. ‘Is this okay?’

Charles’s clumsy tongue finally loosened itself. ‘Yes,’ he breathed, reaching out to trail tentative fingers along Erik’s shoulder. ‘Oh, Erik, _yes_.’

Erik smiled. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Because I’ve been waiting to do this for _years_.’

And then they were back in each other’s arms, kissing, as the water lapped gently around them.

The kiss was chaste, for all that they were naked, but somehow it shook Charles more than any of his prior sexual experiences ever had. Pulling back for a breath, he leaned forward and pressed his forehead against Erik’s. ‘If I’d known that that’s what I would be coming back to then I would have returned home sooner,’ he said, sounding breathless.

‘I wouldn’t have complained,’ Erik agreed, resting his forehead against Charles’s and closing his eyes. 

Charles smiled. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Neither would I.’ He then smiled, his head still pressed to Erik’s. ‘You know, my mother’s not going to be happy about this,’ he said wryly.

Erik grinned. ‘I know,’ he said blithely. ‘Mine will, though. She had us mentally paired off ever since we were three.’

Charles laughed and then decided that it would be a good time to start kissing Erik again, so he did.

When they left the pond more than an hour later, the sun had gone in and their skin had pruned, but their arms were linked and their fingers were twined together, and everything was, for the first time in years, exactly the way that it should be.


	13. Table for Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Xavierine) In which Charles goes on a date for the first time after a breakup. It doesn't go well.

Charles was emphatically, categorically, incontrovertibly not looking forward to this date.

It had been over six months since his break-up with Erik (aka The Day Everything Went to Hell) and he had not so much as looked twice at anyone else ever since.

‘You’ve become a monk,’ Emma had said flatly, glaring at him. ‘It’s bad enough that you dress like you’re eighty, but could you at least _try_ to have some fun now and then?’

Charles had said something not very complimentary in return and Emma’s eyes had immediately narrowed.

‘That’s it,’ she had announced, flinging off her coat and whipping her phone out of her bag. ‘I’ve had enough of your moping, Xavier. I’ll find you a date myself. You are getting back on that horse even if I have to wrestle you on there with my own two hands.’

Charles knew that she hadn’t been _entirely_ serious (Emma would never stoop to engaging in a bit of a scuffle, after all – she’d just hire a few goons to do the job for her, as Charles knew all too well from past experience) but he had a healthy fear of Emma’s ire, so he had – with great reluctance – eventually capitulated.

Which was how he found himself sitting in a chic modern restaurant opposite a man who couldn’t look more out of place if he tried.

The man – Logan – was gruff, broad-shouldered and had very long sideburns, and Charles couldn’t for the life of him figure out where on earth Emma had met him.

‘So, how do you know Emma?’ he attempted as a waiter brought them their menus.

Logan shrugged. ‘From around,’ he said brusquely, gazing down at the menu and frowning. He did not elaborate.

Charles let out an internal sigh. Logan had given him a brief once-over when he had arrived at the restaurant but he had barely given Charles a second look since then. All of his responses had been cursory and monosyllabic, and he looked more impatient than ill-at-ease. If Charles didn’t know better, then he would have said that Logan wanted to be here even less than he did.

Sighing, Charles looked down at his own menu. After a minute’s perusal, he glanced back up to see Logan still glaring down at his.

Charles bit his lip. ‘I hear that the lobster is quite good,’ he ventured after a minute, feeling slightly annoyed with himself when his words came out a lot more tentative than he’d wanted.

Logan looked up at him and raised an eyebrow. ‘I don’t need help picking out my own dinner, bub,’ he said wryly, before glancing up as the waiter returned to their table. ‘Got any chicken?’ he asked the waiter casually.

The waiter blinked. ‘I’m afraid not, sir,’ he said after a pause. ‘We have a very good duck à l’orange, however, which I would recommend.’

‘You would, huh?’ Logan scratched his chin before shrugging. ‘Then I guess I’ll be having the duck then.’

‘Very good, sir,’ the waiter murmured, before taking Charles’s order and then leaving.

There was a pause. Charles shifted in his seat, feeling slightly uncomfortable. Where _had_ Emma found this man? He cast a discreet eye over Logan’s plaid shirt and scruffy jeans and felt a moment’s anxiety. The restaurant was quite pricey – of course it was, _Emma_ had picked it – and the food prices verged on the exorbitant. Maybe that’s why Logan was being so brusque, Charles mused – the restaurant was possibly much too expensive for his taste. 

He chewed on his lip, wondering if there was a way to offer to pay the bill without offending Logan’s pride. Erik wouldn’t have stood for that, he knew; he had been very sensitive about Charles’s wealth – too sensitive, in fact – and in the end that had been one of the contributing factors that had led to their eventual separation.

Charles sighed. He had no intention of going through all that again – not if he could help it. 

His mind made up, he at last allowed himself to relax back into his seat. He would just skip dessert, split the bill evenly with Logan, and then they could part ways, he decided. It wasn’t as if the date was going spectacularly, after all. Feeling oddly glum about that, Charles raised an eye up to Logan – only to see him looking straight back at Charles with a considering expression on his face.

‘What?’ Charles said at once, half raising a hand to his face as if to check if there was anything on it. ‘What is it?’

Logan shrugged. ‘Nothing,’ he grunted. ‘Was just thinking.’ He then cocked his head to the side. ‘You know, I wouldn’t have taken you to be one of Frost’s friends.’

Charles raised an eyebrow. ‘That’s a bit rich coming from you,’ he said before he could help himself. He hurried on before Logan could take offence. ‘Not that you’re …’ he trailed off, not knowing how to finish that sentence, and then shook his head. ‘How do you mean?’

Logan shrugged again. ‘Just that I was imagining something quite different,’ he said vaguely, before turning away.

Charles felt his heart sink a little. It wasn’t as if he’d had any illusions about the date going well, but it was nevertheless more than a little mortifying to think that he was something of a disappointment. It didn’t matter that Logan was a veritable stranger; the feeling – one that Charles knew all too well – still stung.

Logan was studying him. Just when Charles thought that he might open his mouth to say something, their waiter arrived with their food and that ended all chances of furthering their conversation.

The meal was excruciating. Charles had given up attempting to breach the silence and Logan didn’t seem to care one way or another, so they both settled into an uncomfortable silence, broken only by the clatter and scrape of cutlery as they ate.

When they had finished eating and the dishes had been cleared away, their waiter brought over the dessert menus. Charles was just about to refuse, when Logan spoke up.

‘We’ll both have the cheesecake,’ he grunted, pushing the menus back. He raised an eyebrow at Charles’s look of surprise. ‘What? It’s good.’

Charles blinked. ‘Oh,’ he said, processing this new information. ‘So you’ve been here before, then?’

Logan shrugged. ‘You could say that.’ His smile turned wry. ‘I mean I _do_ own the place.’

Charles stared at him. ‘What?’ he said dumbly.

Logan’s eyebrows creased. ‘You didn’t know?’

Charles shook his head, suddenly feeling slightly embarrassed for his earlier misconceptions. ‘I honestly didn’t,’ he admitted. ‘Emma didn’t tell me very much about you, to be frank. Just that you were going to meet me here and that if I didn’t turn up then she would sign me up to a dozen different online dating sites.’

To his surprise, Logan let out a little chuckle. ‘So she blackmailed you too, huh?’ he said ruefully. ‘It figures.’ His expression then turned more sombre. ‘I guess I ought to apologise for being a bit of a jackass,’ he said, meeting Charles’s gaze unwaveringly. ‘I was mad at Emma for getting me into this and I took it out on you.’ He paused. ‘I’d also been expecting some kind of spoilt rich airhead, so I didn’t exactly try very hard to impress.’ He shook his head. ‘It took me all of five minutes to realise that you weren’t exactly what I’d been expecting.’

‘Are you sure about that?’ Charles said dryly. ‘We’ve barely said two words to each other, after all. I could be the stuff of nightmares, for all that you’d know.’

Logan snorted. ‘Yeah,’ he said, scratching his chin. ‘I guess you could. Something tells me different, though. Trust me on this, Chuck, I’ve got good instincts.’ He then grimaced. ‘It’s my manners that ain’t all that great.’

‘I can’t argue with that,’ Charles agreed, but he was smiling. Things suddenly seemed to be looking up.

‘And I guess Frost isn’t _totally_ full of shit,’ Logan said grudgingly. He glanced up at Charles. ‘She said that you would at least make it to the main course before you threw the towel in.’ He paused. ‘She also said that if there was even the slightest chance that I thought that I liked you by that point, then I should get you to stay for dessert.’ He met Charles’s eyes.

Charles felt his heart pick up speed, and the novelty of the sensation – one he hadn’t experienced in well over six months – startled him.

Logan was still speaking. ‘Guess I ruined my chances though,’ he was saying ruefully. ‘This can’t have been the best date you’ve ever been on, eh Chuck?’

Charles laughed. ‘Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure about that,’ he murmured, trying to hide a grin. ‘Strangely enough, this is not actually the worst date that I’ve ever been on.’ At Logan’s look, he added, ‘On my first date with Erik – my ex – he got into an argument with the owner of a yacht and instead of having a romantic dinner by the beach with me, he spent the whole evening squabbling with _him_ over whose fault it was.’

Logan raised an eyebrow. ‘And you still went out with him after that?’

‘Well,’ Charles said, a smile pulling at the end of his lips. ‘The argument ended when Mr. Shaw finally just shoved Erik overboard, and I had to jump in afterwards to save the idiot from drowning.’ He gave Logan a wan smile. ‘My sister always said that I had a thing for rescuing strays. And – well – I guess the sight of him soaking wet and shivering did me in.’ Charles shrugged. ‘I took him home and fed him soup and put him to bed and then the next day he woke up and asked me out again. The rest, as they say, is history.’

‘Hmm,’ Logan gave Charles a searching look.

‘What is it?’

‘I was just thinking that I was right before – I wouldn’t have taken you to be one of Emma’s friends.’ He smiled at Charles’s wary expression. ‘You’re too damn nice, Chuck.’

Charles felt himself laugh. ‘So I’ve been told,’ he agreed. ‘We’ve been friends for a long time though, Emma and I. She’s one of my best and oldest friends. Don’t tell her that I said so, but she’s a lot nicer than she likes to make out.’

Logan let out a huff of laughter. ‘Not sure I believe that, bub,’ he said with a snort. ‘Doesn’t mean that she’s not a friend though.’ He gestured around at the restaurant. ‘She’s the one who helped me get this damn place, as a matter of fact. And then a few others besides.’

‘Oh,’ Charles paused as something inside his brain clicked. Now that he thought about it, he vaguely remembered Emma telling him about some restaurant venture that she was investing in some years ago. Emma had said that he would like the man that she was backing, he now recalled, but back then Charles hadn’t paid much attention. He had still been in the honeymoon phase of his relationship with Erik at that point, and very little had managed to penetrate the bubble that he had lived in at that time. ‘I think I remember her saying something about that … I didn’t know that you two were friends, though.’

Logan shrugged. ‘Yeah, well, neither of us is the friendly sort,’ he said frankly. ‘So I’m not surprised you never heard of me before this.’

‘Well,’ Charles said, feeling bold, ‘she obviously doesn’t think you’re _too_ awful since she set us up tonight.’

‘Hmm,’ Logan nodded. ‘I guess so. Though right now hers isn’t really the opinion that I’m worried about.’

Charles glanced up and raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh?’ he asked. ‘Is that so?’

Logan lifted his chin as if in challenge. ‘So what do you say, Chuck?’ he leaned back and eyed Charles closely. ‘Feeling up to a second go at this? So I can make it up to you for being an asshole this time around. What do you say?’

Charles hadn’t been looking forward to this date. He’d had no intention of enjoying it. He _hadn’t_ enjoyed it, for the most part. He’d been very much looking forward to ending things quickly and then going home to a book and a hot chocolate before bed.

Plans, however, changed.

‘You know what,’ Charles said, a slow smile spreading on his face as a spark ignited low in his gut for the first time since Erik. ‘I think … I think I say _yes_.’

*****

Much, much later that night, after he and Logan had talked for hours, exchanged numbers, and he had finally pressed a chaste kiss to Logan’s cheek and had gone home, Charles at last checked his phone and saw the text message that Emma had left for him.

_Told you you’d like him._

Charles smiled. ‘Always have to be right about everything, don’t you,’ he muttered fondly, before firing off a quick text in reply.

_Stop gloating, he wrote. Then, after a pause, Okay, you can gloat a little._

Emma was quick to reply. _No need, sugar. Just promise me that I’ll be the maid of honour on your wedding day._

Charles snorted. ‘I wouldn’t get ahead of myself if I were you,’ he said under his breath. He started to repeat the sentiment in his text message and then paused and deleted the last few letters.

_Okay_ , he wrote instead, and then hit _send_ and smiled.


	14. Breaking the News

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Charles is the workaholic editor of a newspaper and Erik is his chief political correspondent.

It was almost 4am when Erik stormed into Charles’s office, his face white with anger and his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, causing Charles to glance up from the white glare of his computer screen in mild surprise. 

‘Hello, Erik,’ Charles greeted him calmly. His tone was pleasant, despite the exhaustion written deep into his features. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘Cut the shit, Xavier,’ Erik snarled, all but flinging a rolled-up copy of a newly-printed newspaper onto Charles’s desk. ‘What the hell is _this_?’

Charles blinked once or twice before redirecting his attention to where the newspaper lay unfurled on his table. He studied it for a moment. ‘It appears to be the front page of my newspaper, from what I can gather,’ he said mildly. He then took a closer look, as if he hadn’t already scrutinised every single word and detail before sending the paper off to print, just as he always did. ‘Looks like the minister for health is threatening to resign again,’ he mused.

Erik’s eyes narrowed. ‘Screw the minister,’ he growled, bracing his arms on Charles’s desk and glaring at him. ‘And don’t try to act like you don’t know what I’m talking about, Charles. You know _exactly_ why I’m here.’

‘Oh?’ Charles raised an eyebrow in polite inquiry. ‘And why’s that?’

‘I am here, _Mr. Editor_ ,’ Erik sneered, ‘because you took my exposé on Sebastian Shaw off the front page – the front page that you _explicitly_ promised me – and instead replaced it with some – some _fluff piece_ – about the fucking _wealth minister_ —’

‘ _Health_ ,’ Charles corrected him with a sigh. ‘The piece was about the health minister. Which, considering you are our top political correspondent, you really ought to have known.’

‘— about the minister of _who the fuck cares_ having a crisis of confidence!’ Erik took a deep breath, his teeth bared and his hands clenched at his sides. ‘You promised me that front page, Charles. You _promised_.’

‘I did,’ Charles agreed. ‘And I have every intention of giving it to you.’

‘Like hell!’ Erik snarled. He pulled back from the table and started pacing back and forth. ‘Damn it, Charles, you know what this means to me. You _know_ what Shaw’s done.’

‘I do,’ Charles said gravely.

‘Then why did you pull my front page?’ Erik hissed, darting back to lean over the table so that his face was level with Charles’s. ‘There better be one hell of a reason for this, Charles, or else I—’

‘Yes?’ Charles raised an eyebrow. ‘Or else … what?’

Erik sighed and pulled back, suddenly looking weary. ‘Or else,’ he said tiredly, bringing his hands up and running them over his face. ‘Or else I’d have to wonder whether the reason that you won’t run my story on Shaw is because he has you in his back pocket.’

Charles’s expression did not so much as flicker. ‘Do you really think that?’ he asked quietly.

Erik grimaced, pulling away. ‘If it was anyone else …’ he trailed off and then shook his head. ‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘No, of course I don’t. If there’s one person in the world who I would trust not to be in Shaw’s pocket then it’s you.’ He turned a wry look on Charles. ‘Despite the fact that you are a newspaperman, you’re strangely the most honourable man I know.’

‘Thank you,’ Charles said, smiling slightly. ‘And I’m flattered to hear it. It’s good to know that your opinion of me isn’t _completely_ full of disdain.’

Erik opened his mouth as if to protest and then stopped himself. He sighed and shook his head. ‘It’s not attractive to fish for compliments, Charles,’ he said dryly. ‘And I wouldn’t make any claims on my good opinion just yet. I still need a reason – a _real_ reason – for why you pulled my piece.’

Charles sighed. ‘I pulled it for the very best of reasons,’ he said quietly, looking up from his desk. ‘I pulled it, Erik, because it wasn’t finished.’

Erik stared at him. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’ he growled, stalking forward in anger. ‘That article was _complete_. It was done! All of my research was _impeccable_ and my sources are _unquestionable_. As _always_.’

‘I know,’ Charles said soothingly. ‘I know that, Erik – I know.’

‘Then what the hell is the problem then?’

Charles sighed. ‘You are an excellent journalist, Erik,’ he said kindly. ‘But your problem is that you have no patience. You are interested only in immediate results. The long-game … that eludes you still.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Erik snapped, looking irritated.

‘Your hatred of Shaw blinds you,’ Charles said bluntly, sitting up straight in his chair. ‘It blinds you to the bigger picture.’ He cocked his head to the side. ‘Do you think that he is alone in his corruption?’

‘No—’ Erik began but Charles was already continuing.

‘Do you have any idea how many people need to be involved in order for Shaw to have been operating like this for so many years? How many _powerful_ people?’ Charles shook his head. ‘Your story on Shaw is complete, Erik, I cannot argue about that. But you are looking only at a very small part of a very, very large and corrupt machine.’ He met Erik’s eyes. ‘What you have brought me is the centre of an intricate jigsaw puzzle, Erik. But now it’s time to fill in corners.’ He took a file from the side of his desk – a file that Erik knew all too well, having been the one to compile it in the first place – and he pushed it towards Erik. ‘You’ll be needing that,’ he said mildly. ‘And don’t worry – when it’s time, your article on Shaw will make the front page. My promise still holds.’ A slow, inching smile appeared on his face, full of anticipation. ‘I’m just very much looking forward to what _other_ front pages you can bring me with this story. I have very high hopes.’

Erik raised an eyebrow. ‘Understood,’ he said with a dip of his head, before snatching up the file and making his way to the door.

‘And Erik?’

Erik paused, turning back to look at Charles.

Charles was regarding him thoughtfully. ‘I know that I don’t need to tell you to keep this one close to your chest,’ he said slowly. He paused. ‘But a case could also be made for sharing, too.’

‘Sharing?’ Erik’s eyes narrowed.

Charles shrugged. ‘Shaw has his team,’ he said simply. ‘You could use one too.’ He tilted his head outside to the bullpen where a few young and very determined – and very exhausted – employees were still at their desks. ‘Don’t go this alone,’ he said quietly. ‘You will need all the help you can get.’ He studied his nails for a moment. ‘On a _completely_ unrelated note, did you read Hank and Jean’s piece on the Russian oil scandal? I was very impressed … They are both very promising, don’t you think?’

Erik snorted. ‘You do realise that you don’t have a subtle bone in your body, don’t you, Charles?’ he asked wryly, before rolling his eyes. ‘If it will make you happy then _fine_ \- I’ll talk to them. Tomorrow. Right now I’m going home.’

‘Good idea,’ Charles agreed with a smirk. ‘You need your beauty sleep.’

Erik gave him a look. ‘It’s 4am, Charles. Quite frankly, any chance of me getting my beauty sleep passed the moment the clock struck midnight.’ He sighed. ‘I guess we’ll just both have to settle for the fact that I’m going to look like shit tomorrow morning.’

Charles huffed out a laugh. ‘Right. I’ll believe _that_ when I see it.’

Erik raised an eyebrow. ‘Why, Charles,’ he murmured. ‘Could there have been a compliment buried somewhere in there?’

‘It’s not attractive to fish for comments, Erik,’ Charles said snippily, hiding a smile. He then shook his head wryly. ‘And it’s not exactly ethical for me to give them out, either, considering that I’m your boss.’

‘You’re my _editor_ ,’ Erik corrected him. ‘As far as I am concerned, you just clean up after me.’ He smiled then, his expression soft as he took in Charles’s visible exhaustion. ‘Go home, Charles,’ he said softly.

Charles gave him a tired smile. ‘Good idea,’ he said. His mouth then quirked upwards. ‘Goodnight, Erik.’

Erik nodded. ‘Goodnight, Mr. Editor,’ he said softly, and then walked out of the office, closing the door behind him.

Charles let out a long, straggling breath as the door closed. He glanced up at the clock on his wall, and then rubbed a hand over his tired eyes. Pulling his hand away, he sighed. Then, turning to his computer, he focused his attention on the screen once again and then calmly went back to work.


	15. Public Displays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Erik realises that maybe he doesn't actually hate public displays of affection as much as he thought he did.

Erik hates public displays of affection. He really, really does. Kisses lasting longer than three seconds, cuddling - even holding hands: as far as he is concerned, those are the sorts of things that should be kept between two (or more, Erik doesn’t judge) people, and should be done in the privacy of their own homes, far far away from the eyes of public. He feels very strongly about the subject, and always has and always will.

Which is why he cannot for the life of him understand how he came to be in the middle of the university library, plastered against Charles Xavier and kissing the life out of him as Charles cheerfully – and very enthusiastically – reciprocates.

Erik doesn’t think it’s an exaggeration to say that it might just be the best - and hottest - kiss that he’s ever had in his entire life.

‘Ugh,’ he hears distantly from somewhere behind him. 'Really? In a library?’

'Don’t you just hate people like that?’ someone else replies. 'Like, I’m trying to _work_ here, guys.’

Erik vaguely takes a moment to consider feeling guilty for abandoning his principles and inflicting this sight on the poor unsuspecting people whom he really, genuinely sympathises with.

Then Charles does something with his tongue, and Erik decides, _what the hell_ , and goes straight back to kissing Charles.

After all, he reasons, this isn’t likely to happen ever again …

*****

The fifth time they’re caught furiously making out against the shelf in the university library, Erik decides that there’s only really one sensible course of action.

He uses his powers to kill all the lights on their side of the library, and then goes straight back to kissing Charles.

There, he thinks smugly. Problem solved.


End file.
